


A Study in Reverse

by Boring_And_Obvious



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, Dorky and cute blogger Sherlock, Falling In Love, Fluff, Graphic Description of Corpses, Inverse AU, Johnlock - Freeform, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mycroft means well, Personality Swap, Plain badassery, Protective Lestrade, Protective but bitchy Donovan, Virgin Sherlock, and a teensy bit of angst, but he's a butt, everyone hates tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1938186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boring_And_Obvious/pseuds/Boring_And_Obvious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inverse!AU: John is a genius, he knows your entire life story from just a glance at your shoes. But his gift comes with a price: He’s bored! To satisfy his adrenaline addiction he enlisted in the army, but got shot and was honorably discharged. Back in good old London John becomes addicted to drugs to ease his boredom and escape his nightmares. But our dearest Watson discovers something far more interesting: a murder!</p><p>Sherlock Holmes has always been in the shadow of his genius older brother, Mycroft Holmes. Contrary to the Holmes’ tradition, Sherlock hated politics and wanted to do something more exiting. After studying Forensic Pathology he joined New Scotland Yard. Too bad he was stuck with a desk job and sucky co-workers. Until one day Sherlock is allowed to go to a crime scene. That day, John meets Sherlock. That day, Sherlock’s world is thrown of its axis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Observation

 

“More paperwork, Nerd.”

 Sherlock repressed the urge to throw his hands up an groan. Jeez, there was just no brake for him was there? “Do it yourself, Donovan.” he growled. There was no way he was going to do her job for her.

 “Can’t,” she answered with a smirk, “It’s the Freak’s, but he _forgot_ so you have to do it, Nerd.” Sherlock knew that even though Donovan called Watson a freak she secretly lusted after him. The entire female body of the Yard had a secret fetish for him, hell, even some of the males seemed to have a certain thing for him. Also, Watson never _forgot_ the paperwork, he just refused to do it so Sherlock was always making overtime to get it all sorted.

 As Donovan walked away Sherlock bent himself over the paperwork. A robbery, two guards dead, no signs of a struggle and, oddly enough, no cause of death. It was like the men had just dropped to the floor and ceased living. NSY was absolutely mystified. Until Watson noticed the tiny puncture wounds behind one of the guards’ ears: the remains of a clumsily removed needle. Apparently the robbers had hid in the vents, two experienced men and one amateur. The experienced men had had blowpipes with poisoned needles, and the rest was child’s play. The fatal mistake was the fact they let the amateur remove a needle too.

 The blogger ruffled his fluffy black curls and glanced at his expensive watch. 7.30 PM… He was supposed to be home by now. Mummy probably wondered what kept him so long.

As if on cue a **PING** was heard from his phone.

 

_Where are you? We’re waiting with dinner.  –EH_

 

Sherlock smiled slightly at his mother’s text. Elizabeth Holmes using a phone, he’d never thought he’d live to see the day.

 

_I’ll be awhile, stuck on paperwork. Don’t wait up. –SH_

Almost immediately Sherlock received a response. Mummy Holmes was oddly quick with her fingers considering her age.

 

_You shouldn’t just bow to their every wish, love. I bet if you talk to the DI he’ll let you in on a case. For god’s sake, you spent seven years of study on this. –EH_

Sherlock sighed. That approach had been tried already, but every time he tried to talk to the DI Lestrade Sherlock just turned into a bumbling mess, too afraid he’d lose his job.

 Glancing at the mountain of paper on his desk, his watch and then the DI’s office on the other side of the big room shared with his co-workers. Donovan was in a heated discussion with Dimmock and Lestrade. She pointed at a file, then at the door and ended with a flourish towards the ceiling all the while he heavily make-upped face made an array of not very flattering expressions. Lestrade said something (Sherlock lip-read something along the lines of professionalism, which she lacked) and the curly haired woman stormed out, flipped Sherlock off for the sheer reason that he was staring and fled the scene with a big scowl on her face.

 Looking back at the DI’s office the blogger noticed Dimmock was gone too. It was now or never. Sherlock gathered his khaki canvas bag and stuffed the paperwork he was allowed to take home in, then stood up and shyly made his way over to the other side of the room.

 The DI was sitting in his swiveling chair, feet kicked up on the desk and happily munching on a doughnut. He looked rather startled when Sherlock knocked softly on the door, but composed himself.

 “Ah, Holm. What brings you here?” Sherlock winced at the mispronunciation of his name.

 “A-ah. I am sorry for- intruding… b-but… I mean… My… name-" You know what, fuck this! "My name is Sherlock Holmes. Not Holm or Homes and definatly not Hoult. I demand my positioning at the next case, seeing as I am overqualified for mere _paperwork.”_ He spat the last word. God, he was sick and tired of this! He shouldn’t be doing a boring desk job like his brother, still dealing with bullies even though he was _29_ years old for Christ’s sake!

 The DI was pleasantly surprised, he’d meant for Sherlock to be put on the next case anyway, but it was nice to know the man was determined that this was what he wanted. Though he should probably remember his name next time he saw him.

 

* * *

 

John swirled his tea with one of Mrs. Hudson’s silver teaspoons. The rent  of the flat would just not do. It was simply too high, even though he earned enough money with the Work. There was no way he’d keep up with the rent on his own.

 Mrs. Hudson seemed to have an idea,  “What about a flatmate, love?” 

 John shook his head and smirked over his teacup, “Oh Mrs. Hudson, who’d want me as a flatmate.” 

 Mrs. Hudson smiled, it was a joke between the two of them. Originating from the time her husband was still in trial. “What about all those lovely females you take home. They don’t seem adverse to the idea of living with you.”

 John grimaced and muttered, “Until they find the bodyparts in the fridge, of course.” It was a miracle Mrs. Hudson hadn’t thrown him out yet, considering the amount of times she found a liver or kidney or even fingers in the fridge or in Tupperware boxes in the cabinets.

  **Ping!** John’s phone chimed.

 

_Triple homicide. Would gladly like some help. But play nice, there’s a new guy here and apparently he’s got a weak stomage. –GL_

John scowled and pictured a young officer emptying his stomage’s contents all over the fresh evidence. Ugh, what an absolutely and morbidly _normal_ reaction to a dead body.

 

_Text address. Keep Anderson and new guy away from evidence. –JW_

“A case, Hudders! Triple homicide! Oh it must be Christmas!” John jumped up and kissed Mrs. Hudson on her cheek, ignoring her fussing over her nickname and grabbing his blue scarf and long Belstaff coat.

 As he hailed a cab he got the distinct feeling today was going to be different. He never knew how right he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make it a tad longer, but I quite like where I left off. It's a bit of a cliffhanger, eh?
> 
> The credit for the idea goes to Nihui on DeviantArt. http://nihui.deviantart.com/ Please take a moment to look at her great gallery. The post I got this idea from is http://nihui.deviantart.com/art/Johnlock-AUs-374955296
> 
> Please leave a review or kudos. Anything to let me know anyone is even reading this. You know, to keep me motivated.


	2. Hypothesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS UN-BETA'D SO PLEASE BE NICE AND XEvilXChibiX KICKED MY ARSE INTO WRITING THIS!!! THE BETA'D VERSION WILL BE UP TOMORROW SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE!!!
> 
> Edit: Actually no, it's Beta'd now. Apologies for mistakes and if you notice any please comment so I can fix it. Thank you!

Sherlock drummed his fingers happily on his knees as he sat next to Lestrade in the DI’s car. They had to pick up Donovan from her apartment so by the universal laws of the front seat she got situated in the back, the biggest scowl on her face Sherlock had ever seen (Mycroft’s scowls excluded). He was fairly sure she was plotting his demise right now, but he really couldn’t care.

 “What are you grinning about, then?” Lestrade asked with a smirk. Sherlock whipped his head around to stare at the DI with wide, doe-like eyes. Lestrade chuckled at the dark blush on the blogger’s ridiculous cheekbones. He doubted he would ever meet a man more adorable then Sherlock Holmes. He also doubted the straight-ness of that thought.

 When the car pulled up in the drive-way of the incredibly domestic house in the incredibly domestic street, the incredibly domestic neighbors all peered out of their incredibly domestic windows to stare at the incredibly nondomestic sight. The house was painted a crème white color, matching the crème curtains hung behind all the windows of the house. The perfectly maintained garden with the pure green lawn made it all look exactly like the cover of a gardening magazine. The only indication this was a crime scene were half a dozen police cars with flashing lights and the stressing officers and forensics tripping over each other.

 Sherlock got out of the car slowly. He nervously stretched the sleeves of his jumper over his fingers, clutching them in his clenched fists. Mummy had tried to make him quit doing that, saying it only stretched the already horribly deformed wool. Sherlock had started biting his lips then, until they were cracked and raw. He couldn’t get rid of either bad habit now.

 The DI led him inside, instructed him to report to ‘Anderson’ and strutted away with Donovan in tow. Sherlock stood there in the hallway for an awkward moment before gathering his courage and turning around-…

promptly walking into a smarmy man with slick greasy hair. “Oh, didn’t know _you_ were coming.” The man said with a long suffering sigh. Sherlock fidgeted and adjusted his square, black rimmed (as Donovan called them) hipster glasses, “Y… yeah… Lestrade invited me. Uh… Where’s Anderson?”

 The man sighed again, louder this time, and someone wearing a plastic blue suit sniggered. “That’s me. Here, wear one of these,” Anderson passed him one of the suits. “In here, I am your superior. You don’t touch anything without my permission. Not a cough without asking me, understood?” Sherlock nodded furiously, not trusting his voice at the moment. He quickly slipped on the suit as he tried to follow Anderson without falling flat on his face.

 “Here, write everything down. I want those notes on my desk by Friday.” Anderson muttered as he passed Sherlock a notepad and pen. The blogger nodded along with the rest of the explanation and tried his hardest to commit everything to his memory.

 “I want you to take a look, write stuff down, and out of that room in fifteen minutes.” glared Anderson, before pushing him roughly into the livingroom where Lestrade was bent over the bodies wearing the same plastic monstrosity as him. The DI’s head whipped around to smile at Sherlock in a reassuring manner, before pointing at the bodies being photographed and making a ‘work-your-magic’ motion with a twirl of his hand. Sherlock nodded, trying to look self-assured, before turning to the scene of the crime.  

 Three bodies were sprawled out in the middle of the living room, blood pooling around them and smudged in all different directions, obviously the bodies had been dragged there and carelessly thrown on top of each other.

 The first body was male, late twenties, 5 foot 8, muscular, blond, face bashed in beyond recognition. Died from a shot in the face after multiple blows to the back of the head with a blunt object. No other injuries on first sight basis.

 The second body was female, mid-twenties, 5 foot 6, brunette, pale green eyes, tanned complexion, slim. Died from two shots in the back and one in between the eyes. No other injuries on first sight basis.

 The forensics then gingerly lifted the first bodies off of the third one. It was smaller than the other two and Sherlock’s trained brain, even though repulsed by the sight, couldn't stop the stream of information pouring in.

 The third body was female, five to ten years old, 3 foot 11, blond, pale green eyes, tanned complexion, slim. Died from multiple blows to the back of the head.

 Sherlock stumbled back, tripped and fell into the DI’s waiting arms whom, sensing the danger, dragged the blogger from the living room through the hallway into the front yard. Sherlock was then thrown on his hands and knees, just in time for the dry heaves to turn into actual vomiting. Lestrade held his glasses for him and muttered apologies while resting a grounding hand in between the blogger’s shoulder blades, something Sherlock was internally grateful for.

 When Sherlock had calmed down enough to stand and Lestrade stopped hysterically apologizing (“I am so sorry Sherlock! If I had known there was a kid… Oh god…”) Donovan handed the two a coffee without a word. Not even a mocking glace in Sherlock’s direction. Lestrade noticed Sherlock’s confusion and just muttered, “Yeah, the first time she saw something like that she reacted far worse.” Sherlock really didn’t know how to feel about indirectly bonding with both Donovan and Lestrade over this.

 The DI broke the silence, “What do you think? Should we call him?” Sherlock pulled a confused eyebrow towards his hairline before realizing that _Oh, he meant John Watson._ The blogger shyly raised his shoulders and sipped his coffee before replying, “If… you think you need him…” Lestrade made some sort of half-grin-half-grimace, “You’ve never met him, have you?” Sherlock shook his head. “Well then I’m warning you, he likes fresh meat so just… Just stay away from him. Your first case is already a nightmare, don’t want to make things worse.” Sherlock bent his head to hide his blush and gnawed at his lip as he felt the familiar burn of tears in his eyes. Mummy called him sensitive, Mycroft called him a crybaby. He secretly agreed with Mycroft.

 Lestrade quickly typed out a text on his phone before motioning Donovan over to discuss further decisions. Sherlock leaned moodily on the DI’s car, he’d mucked it all up. Maybe he should call Mycroft, he really didn’t feel like cycling home like some damn rejected teenager. But no, there really isn’t a disappointment in the world bad enough to make Sherlock phone his brother.

 

* * *

 

John practically bounced in his seat of enthusiasm. If Watsons bounced of enthusiasm, that was. His train of thought was all over the place and his mind palace was going haywire. The address was in one of the richest parts of London. The drive there long and rather boring. He suspected the driver was taking a longer route so it'd cost the consultant more money but he couldn’t be arsed to tell the man off for it.

 “Sir, that would be 37.80 dollars, please.” said the taxi driver, cutting through John’s very important musing. John threw some bills at him and stormed out into the chilly evening cold, marching up to Lestrade whom stood with Donovan at the policetape waiting for him.

 “I have to warn you, one of the victims is a kid.” Lestrade said grimly. John shook his head and muttered, “I know. The kid didn’t deserve it, but there’s a case to be solved and a murderer to be caught!” Donovan grimaced at his happy demeanor, but said nothing. She knew Watson would sober considerably after seeing the body.

 They trio walked into the house, Lestrade explaining things along the way and John ignoring him. His mind palace for once completely void of distractions while John opened cupboards and closets and peered at family pictures. Narrowly side stepping the bodies and blood puddles as he went.

 “Most likely scenario, robbery gone wrong. Would fit the neighborhood, but not the inhabitants of the house. Inhabitants bought the house while the economy was bad and the house itself had been a mess. The family was young, stuck every last penny they had into the house. There was no money to be stolen there.” John fired his deductions at break-neck speed at the Yarders, “So why kill them? Obviously not for money, like I said, there is none. So emotional motives. The killer knew them, no forced entry, they let him in willingly. Both husband and wife didn’t cheat, they were barely married for three years, wedding bliss and all. Not a crime of passion. Now, if we look at the picture at the wall in the kitchen there is not only the man, but the family’s best friend as well. The picture is new, maybe three months old. During that time the friend went through a nasty divorce. Ring finger has tan lines, wrinkles in his forehead, more graying hairs then these poor buggers. I suspect he came over for a fun night with friends, they went to bed while he slept on the couch. Had a gun in his trousers the whole time and, alcohol emplifying his emotions, killed them in a fit of rage. Jealousy is such a boring human emotion.”

John sighed with a very put-upon look on his face and turned around with a flourish of his coat, only to walk into a tall, thin, very pale man. Red rimmed icy blue eyes, high cheekbones, marble skin, feminine in both appearance and behavior. John smirked, it wasn’t everyday such a beauty graced his presence. The tall man was insecure, a few presses on the right buttons and he’d be John’s in no-time.

 The detective quickly snaked his fingers through the man’s belt loops and pulled him flush against his own chest under the pretense of preventing either of them falling. The man blushed a delicious shade of red, pushing John away he spouted some garbled apologies before the consultant could even begin his unashamed flirting.

But Sherlock pulled himself together rather quickly and stupidly enough said, “There’s no way you could possibly know all that.”

 There is a moment in every individual’s lifetime where their reactions are completely in sync with other people’s. This was that moment as Scotland Yard broke into a collective groan.

 If John had feathers, they’d be all ruffled and puffed up. He narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, ignored Letsrade’s pleads of ‘No, John. Not now, _please_.” and let the information he deduced eagerly bounce in his head to form facts and theories.

 “I don’t _know_ , I _observe_. Just like I _observe_ the obvious bullying you’ve endured your whole life. Or the fact you feel inferior to your elder brother. You did ballet until you entered university, something you feel very self-conscious about. You live at home and your mother is the best, if not only friend you’ve ever had, aside from the continuous stream of dogs you’ve owned since childhood. Dogs, weird. You're a cat person. You are a blogger, no doubt. Closet homosexual, only mum knows I expect. And, oh this is good, you’re a virgin. 28, no 29 and still a virgin. How adorable.”

 

John never knew the full extend of Lestrade's swear-word vocabulary until that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, leave a comment if you enjoyed! :)


End file.
